These Same And Weary Roads
by Falkesbane
Summary: While conducting Draco's careers advice session, Severus Snape draws a disturbing parallel.


  
  
Standard disclaimers apply; I solemnly swear I am up to no good.   
  
**These Same and Weary Roads**  
Falkesbane   
  
*   
  
The last careers appointment Severus Snape had scheduled was the one he least looked forward to, even though he was rather anxious to get it all done with and havethe standard array of colourful brochures off of his normally staid desk. He picked up a particularly offensive one - _Make Money by Meeting Muggles!_ - and tossed it neatly into a waste bin. Surely the boy would have no interest in it.   
  
He was late, too, but the boy could not be expected to be punctual. Snape was considering getting up to tend to a brew of the Draught of Living Death he'd been working on, but before he could so, his office door banged upon to reveal Draco Malfoy, startlingly without his general compatriots, Crabbe and Goyle. In spite of himself, Snape snarled a little and said, "It is customary, Mister Malfoy, to knock."   
  
"Sorry, professor," Draco replied, obviously not sorry in the least.   
  
"Sit down," Snape said. Draco obliged, but, as with anything the boy did, it seemed deferential at the same time, with the boy leaning lazily on the chair as though he were at home in his common room.   
  
*   
  
_ In another time, another room, a scrawny, lank-haired boy sits uncomfortably on a hard wooden chair. The man across from him is kind, somewhat elderly, careening down the slow path to retirement. The boy respects him - has learned a great deal from him - but still he does not want to be here. He wants to be alone, in his room, while the other boys are out playing Quidditch, so he can sit alone and read, or work on his incantations. To keep up appearances, he selects a few careers pamphlets, although he has no desire to read any of them.   
  
"Well, Severus," the smiling professor asks, "what considerations have you given to your future?"_   
  
*   
  
"So, Mister Malfoy, what considerations have you given to your future?"   
  
Draco smirked. "I have my plans, Professor."   
  
"Would you care to share them?"   
  
"I don't think I need to."   
  
A short silence stretched between them. "Well, then," Snape said, "which subjects do you intend to keep?" He consulted a piece of parchment in front of him. "You've done well enough in my class and in Charms, but your other classes are decidedly average, except for Care of Magical Creatures, which is absolutely dismal." Snape reflected. "Although I suppose that can be excusable, given the circumstances."   
  
Draco's face twisted into a scowl. "I find most of the pursuits here worthless - digging up ugly plants, or dodging Hagrid's wretched creatures, or listening to that ghost Binns drone on and on. Surely there are - better things I could be learning."   
  
"Such as?"   
  
"Many things. Sometimes I think my father must've been quite off his head, not sending me to Durmstrang."   
  
"Is that where you wanted to go?"   
  
"Yes."   
  
*   
  
_ "I don't quite know, Professor Caldecott," Severus says hesistantly. "I've - I've made some plans, of course-"   
  
"Plans?" The professor's eyes spark a little; he is the sort of man who is proud of his students whenever one shows any initiative. "Care to elaborate?"   
  
Severus does not know what to tell this man - surely he can't say a thing about the bit of fascinating Dark magic his father tried to teach him last week - so he remains silent and waits for Caldecott to speak up again.   
  
"Quiet, eh?" Caldecott laughs. "No different from usual. I daresay you've got quite a talent for Potions, and you're sure to get an Outstanding - perhaps you'd like to go into that someday. Pure research, or possibly commercial brewing. I think you'd be remarkably adept at it."   
  
"I - don't really like Potions, Professor."   
  
Caldecott is affronted. "But - you're great at them. I rarely see such skill and precision in potion-brewing. How can you not?"   
  
Severus looks down at his hands and pulls at the loose threads at the cuffs of his robes, determined not to look up at his professor. The compliments have the opposite of their intended effect - he feels sick and weak and, worst of all, ordinary. "I know I can do them, but they aren't - what I want."   
  
Caldecott stares at his student for a moment. There are many things he does not know and would like to about this strange, sorry boy, and he ventures a risk. "Then, Severus, what do you want?"_   
  
*   
  
"Why Durmstrang?" Snape asked, though he already knew the reply. He looked at Draco from beneath the greasy fall of his hair. The boy's face was drawn into a thin smile, a sickly contented smile. It was an expression the dour professor knew well, for he'd seen it on his own face, once he'd gotten what he wanted.   
  
"Durmstrang ia a better way into what I want."   
  
"Then, Mister Malfoy, what do you want?" But this was another answer he knew.   
  
"Power."   
  
*   
  
_"Power."   
  
Caldecott smiles again. "Just like every other boy, wanting to rule the world and everyone in it. You do realise that there is great deal of power to be found in a well-crafted potion, don't you?"   
  
"Yes, sir," Severus mumbles. "I suppose so. You're right, sir." He gathers his useless pamphlets up and shuffles awkwardly out the door, embarrassed that he has revealed so much to a virtual stranger - for Caldecott is really nothing but another of his teachers.   
  
_ *   
  
"Power," Snape repeated without thinking. He considered, for a moment, all the things he could tell this boy, all the histories, but ultimately he knew that it would be impossible to change Draco Malfoy's mind. There was something in how the boy carried himself, in how his eyes glinted with the assumed immortality characteristic of young men, that told Snape that he was already too far gone. Briefly, Snape cursed himself for not seeing it sooner. "Be wary," he said resignedly, "of the things that can follow power."   
  
The boy's oft-impenetrable mask slipped into confusion, then was in a flash replaced with his usual cool detachment. "Certainly, sir," he said impudently, and then he strode out the door and was gone.   
  
*   
  
**END**   
  



End file.
